


Other People's Hearts:  A Gauda Prime "What if...?"

by Sondra



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-11
Updated: 2012-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-29 09:19:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sondra/pseuds/Sondra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Gauda Prime, Avon accidentally triggers a psychotherapy program created by Ensor for Orac. The resulting insights radically alter the nature of his meeting with Blake. A prequel to "Beloved Adversary".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Other People's Hearts:  A Gauda Prime "What if...?"

"Stick to the distress beacon, Orac," Avon directed. "When I want your impersonation of a pain, I will let you know." He started to move on through the woods.

*I have often wondered what your impersonation of human graciousness would sound like,* retorted the computer in his arms.

"I love you too, Orac," Avon mumbled sarcastically.

Immediately the distress beacon ceased. *Self-confrontation program is now available and running,* announced Orac. *Please pose your question.*

Avon stopped in his tracks and put the infuriating machine down on the ground. "Damn it, Orac!" he cursed. "I thought I'd repaired you after the damage you sustained on Xenon."

*I am in perfect functioning order, thank you.*

"Then what is this about a self-confrontation program?"

*It is a part of my programming that you never accessed before.*

"Explain."

*Ensor, my creator, frequently suffered from bouts of melancholia brought on by the loneliness of prolonged isolation. He programmed me to assist him at such times.*

Avon burst into laughter. "You mean, a psychotherapy program?"

*You could call it that.*

"But I didn't call it anything," Avon pointed out. "I didn't call _for_ it at all."

*You spoke the trigger phrase,* Orac replied simply.

Avon frowned in puzzlement, then remembered. "I love you?" he exclaimed incredulously.

*That is the correct phrase,* Orac confirmed. *Self-confrontation program is now available and running. Please pose your question.*

"Marvelous," Avon muttered with a sigh. " _Scorpio_ has gone the way of the _Liberator_ , Tarrant is dead, the others are God knows where, and I'm stuck in the middle of a hostile planet with a computer that wants to shrink my head. How did I get myself into such a mess?"

*You came here pursuing the thing you love most in the Universe.*

At the sound of Orac's voice intruding upon his self-addressed monologue, Avon started. "What?" Then, "Of course. I posed a question. Well, perhaps this will be good for a spot of comic relief. The thing I love most, you say?"

*No, Avon, _you_ say. You've said it with your actions ever since you met him, no matter what your words have said.*

"I'll be damned," Avon exclaimed in sudden realization. "You're talking about _Blake_! You think that fuzzy-headed fool of an idealist is _important_ to me."

*There are more than adequate reasons to think so.*

"Name some," Avon challenged, folding his arms across his chest.        

*Reason One,* Orac obliged. *You risked your life to save his when Cally planted a bomb on board the _Liberator_.*

"As I told him," Avon answered dismissively, "that was an automatic reaction."

*That was a lie,* Orac shot back. *He knew better.*

"He certainly claimed to, the arrogant bastard."

Orac continued. *You let the alien torture you to protect the hidden power cells. You did it because Blake wanted to protect the Decimas. You didn't even agree with him.*

"Maybe I just wanted to show Blake how tough I was," Avon suggested. "Or maybe I just didn't like the idea of that alien thinking he could push me around. Or maybe..." Running out of alternatives, he abruptly changed his approach. "Look, if that is the best you can come up with..."

*Reason Two,* said Orac. *You gave up your chance for freedom on XK72 to warn Blake of a Federation trap.*

 "I did that for all of them. Cally and Vila were on the ship, too, you know. I do not sell out people who trust me." Then, deciding he sounded as pompous as Blake, Avon added slyly, "It's a poor survival strategy in the long run."

*Blake trusted you,* Orac pointed out. *He trusted you more than the rest of them put together. You are the one he called for when the _Liberator_ 's defenses attacked him.*

"I am the computer technician," Avon said flatly. "I was the one with the needed expertise."

*You were also the one he knew would not panic,* Orac added.

Avon smiled. "Panic is a poor survival strategy, too."

*Reason Three,* continued the computer. *You went after him on Horizon. Reason Four:  you went after him on Exbar. You told him to leave you and save himself when you were wounded.*

Avon swallowed uncomfortably. "Yes, well, I'd gotten him into that, you know. I made a bad error in judgment when I sent Servalan that message about Travis."

*Did you get him into the mess at Star One?* Orac asked suddenly.

"Certainly not," Avon answered.

*Why did you fight the Andromedans?* was the swift rejoinder.

With a snort of exasperation, Avon replied, "Because he wouldn't give me the ship otherwise."

*Ah—you did it to get the _Liberator_.*

"Right."

*Keeping Blake from killing himself by trying to stay in command when he was seriously wounded had nothing to do with it, of course.*

A pang shot through Avon's heart. "Are you quite through?" he snarled.

*You have the means to turn me off.* After a pause in which that reminder failed to evoke any action on Avon's part, Orac continued. *Very well, then, why did you keep fighting the Federation after Blake disappeared? You had not promised to do that.*

There was a long silence. "Since you seem to know my motives so well," Avon said finally, "why don't _you_ tell _me_? Why did I continue to fight the Federation?"

*Because Blake told you he trusted you,* Orac answered without hesitation.

This time the pang was like a bolt dipped in acid. "You know, that was actually an excellent idea you had a minute ago—the one about turning you off?" He reached out to do it.

*Afraid, Kerr Avon?* the computer taunted.

"No, of course not," Avon denied. His hand returned to his side.

*Then I may continue?*

"By all means."

*You tracked him to Terminal,* Orac declared.

"That was a trap," Avon put in.

*You thought it was him, and you walked into it alone, without backup.*

Avon couldn't deny the truth in that statement. "Well, you know," he said, attempting to downplay its significance, "after what happened with Anna, I became a little reckless at times."

*Roj Blake is not Anna Grant.*

Avon blinked hard, slightly taken aback. "What is that supposed to mean?"

*Roj Blake has never let you down.*

"That remains to be seen."

*That's a dangerous game you are playing, Kerr Avon,* Orac cautioned. And it struck the man that as the dialogue continued to unfold, Orac sounded increasingly less like Orac and increasingly more like an echo of himself.

"What is?" he asked.

*Doubting Blake,* Orac answered.

Avon smiled. "On the contrary, doubt is a first-rate safety measure. He who doubts can never be betrayed."

*He who lies to himself about doubting has already been betrayed, and has committed betrayal,* replied the computer evenly.

"I have no idea what you are babbling about," Avon muttered, but he fidgeted uncomfortably in a way that belied his words.

*It is not Blake who has betrayed you,* Orac clarified. *It is you who have betrayed him.*

At that, Avon totally lost his composure. *You lying pile of tarriel cells!" he hissed.  "I would never—I would die first." Then, stunned by his own outburst, he fell totally silent.

*You almost did on Terminal,* Orac responded calmly. *You told Vila to take the _Liberator_ and run. Servalan's gun was pointed at your head, but you knew Blake would never forgive you for giving her the ship, even to save his life. Like the power cells all over again, but on a far greater scale. Full circle.*

Still visibly shaken, but sufficiently recovered to speak, Avon attempted to resume the argument. "I suppose you think my own desire to keep the _Liberator_ out of Servalan's hands had nothing to do with it? Not to mention my concern for the lives of my crew?"

*But you learned those concerns from Blake in the first place. Admit it, Avon:  He has made you into everything you've tried to pretend you didn't want to be. And you've responded by pretending to despise him for it.*

Half in protest, half in resignation, Avon shook his head. "You think my resentment is not real?"

*I think your resentment is—misplaced,* was the answer.

"And that I actually—" Avon swallowed hard as if choking back the word would hold back the reality, "love him."

*Consider the evidence I have laid before you,* Orac invited. *You pride yourself on your ability to examine evidence dispassionately.*

Avon heaved a sigh. "All right. I shall consider it. When I have more time. But I fail to see what all this has accomplished."

*You know your own heart now.* Orac's tone of voice was so gentle that Avon wondered if it was still Orac, or a voice inside his own head. *When you know your own heart, you can read the hearts of others.*

"Yes, well, a lot of use that is apt to be to a man in my situation," Avon quipped wryly. "Now, if you would kindly resume sending that distress signal..."

As he settled back against a tree trunk and closed his eyes, that same gentle un-Oraclike voice added softly, *You might be surprised, Kerr Avon.* Then the signal resumed as if nothing had interrupted it.

 

So Tarrant was alive, after all! Avon knelt in front of him with Vila, Dayna, and Soolin crouching around. "I'm glad you made it," he said.

"So am I," the pilot replied. Then, "Avon, I think he's here."

All around them alarms were sounding. With a single shot, Avon brought down the woman at the desk who tried to summon help. As the smoke from his gun cleared, two figures entered the tracking gallery: a thin young woman armed with a pistol and the man he had chased across half the galaxy to find.

"Is it him?" Tarrant asked.

"It's him," Vila confirmed, his voice totally devoid of warmth or joy.

"He sold us, Avon," Tarrant declared. "All of us. Even you."

Blake stood in plain sight, revealing some unmistakable changes in his physical appearance. He looked older, tired, scarred. He _was_ scarred, literally, over his left eye. But, unlike his companion, he carried no weapon.

Avon started forward, his mind reeling from Tarrant's words. "He sold us, Avon.  Sold us. Sold us. Sold us." Was it possible? Blake a bounty hunter for real? And fixing to collect the bounty on their heads? To turn them over to the Federation?

 "All of us. All of us. All of us..."

Vila—who had been one of Blake's own people?

Dayna—who had saved his life on Sarran?

Soolin—who'd been backing him up in tight spots for a year now?

Tarrant—who had urged him to leave the doomed _Scorpio_ , valiantly prepared to die alone to save his crewmates?

"Even you, even you, even you..." The words that cut most deeply of all. After everything they'd been through together, had Roj Blake betrayed Kerr Avon?

Blake was crossing the floor to meet him, and, despite the flood of agony washing over him, Avon's hand moved to lower his own gun, as if his body possessed a wisdom deeper than his mind's knowledge. Still, it was from his mind that his words came. "Is it true?" he hissed in horror.

Blake had heard Tarrant's accusation, and now his eyes locked onto the other man's as if searching for the words with which to reply. And when he spoke, what he said sought to answer not only the question that had been voiced, but the myriad of anguished, unvoiced questions behind it.

"Avon, it's me—Blake."

Through a haze of pain that seared his very soul, Avon struggled to hear. "It's me—Blake." Not Tynus. Not Anna. Not...true then? "It's _not_ true," he heard himself say. "You _haven't_ sold us." His voice was not querying, but it wasn't filled with conviction either. It was somewhere in between, the voice of a man grappling with a  problem of oppressive enormity, struggling beneath that enormity to reason it out.

Blake's voice broke through again. "Tarrant doesn't understand."

"Neither do I, Blake," came back the desperate rejoinder: open, vulnerable, almost pleading...

Then: "I set all this up."

All this? This bounty hunter's haven that looked like a Federation base? Alarms continuing to sound all around them? One of Blake's people dead by Avon's own hand for trying to summon help. Another standing there armed and looking nothing if not hostile. He took it all in, and then the full meaning of Blake's words hit him.

"Yes!" he exclaimed. Slowly a smile began to spread across his face. "And an extremely convincing job you made of it, too."

Blake smiled in return and said smugly, "I thought so."

"But why?" Avon continued, sheer bewilderment replacing suspicion. "Why create such an elaborate ruse? What have you been doing here all this time pretending to be a bounty hunter?"

"Avon, I was waiting for _you_ ," Blake said warmly, his arms outstretched to embrace his long-lost companion.

Avon put down his gun and accepted the embrace. With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he replied: "Well, in that case, I'm sorry it took me so long to get here."

 

***************************************************************

 

Seconds later Blake was embracing Vila. "I'm sorry," the thief apologized with more than a little embarrassment. "You really had me fooled."

"Blake, I believe you know Tarrant," Avon said.

"We have met," Blake replied, offering the pilot his hand and adding emphatically, " _I'm_ sorry."

"Avon, are you sure...?" Tarrant queried, but yielded when Avon showed no flicker of doubt.

"And this is Dayna and Soolin," Avon finished. "Ladies, Roj Blake."

Blake shook hands with each of them, then suddenly frowned.

"Where's Cally?"

"She's dead," Avon said quietly, and Blake winced. "Jenna?" he asked in turn.

"Also dead," Blake replied, and to Tarrant, "That was the truth, unfortunately."

"And your companion here?" Avon indicated the woman who had stood so menacingly at Blake's side.

"Ah, yes, my companion," Blake echoed, an odd note in his voice.

At that moment, a man came charging into the room shouting, "Blake, they've found us!  The base is under attack—" He stopped abruptly, noting the dead woman. "What happened here?"

"A tragic mistake," Blake replied, kneeling beside the body and tenderly stroking the pale, lifeless face. "That was Klyn, Avon," he added with a sigh.

"I'm sorry, Blake. I thought..."

"I know, I know. It's as much my responsibility as yours." He rose and turned to the new arrival. "The Federation is here, you say, Deva?"

"Not that close yet, but yes," Deva answered, out of breath.

"Closer than you think," interjected the voice of the woman with the pistol—which she drew now and pointed at Avon. "Be so kind as to drop your guns. All of you."

As people moved to comply, Blake said, "Not so fast, Arlen," and calmly stepped between the woman and her target.

"Blake—" Avon protested.

"That anxious to die for him, are you?" she taunted.

"Blake, get out of the way," Avon muttered between clenched teeth.

Arlen turned towards the _Scorpio_ group. "You and this nest of rebels are now prisoners of the Federation. Your friend Blake said he couldn't tell anymore who was Federation and who wasn't. He was right—he couldn't."

"Not so fast, girl," Blake repeated. "Words, like appearances, can be deceiving, you know."

"Blake, I'm warning you," she hissed, pointing the gun at his head.

"Be my guest," he invited.

Arlen started to squeeze the trigger, then stopped, as if remembering that the Federation needed _this_ prisoner alive. Slowly she redirected her aim towards that part of his anatomy which she'd learned most men valued as much as life itself.

Blake just stood there, impassive.

Avon stood there, white as a sheet, realizing that there was no way he could protect Blake this time, and no longer bothering  to deny to himself how desperately he wanted to.             

After what seemed an eternity, Arlen pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

Nothing except Avon exhaling explosively, and Blake calmly reaching across to take the gun from her hand. "I took the liberty of unloading it," he announced with a sly smile. Then, glancing behind him, "You look a little pale, Avon. Here, have a souvenir."

Avon jerked the gun viciously from Blake's hand, trying deliberately to hurt him. Blake continued to smile through the moment, and passed him the ammunition as well. Avon finally disengaged from Blake's eyes with a shudder, and sullenly reloaded the weapon.

"But how...?  How did you know?" Arlen stammered.

"That you were Federation?  I didn't—not for sure. But I knew you couldn't be trusted as one of us." Seeing her continued look of astonishment, he explained. "Deva told me what you told him about me the minute my back was turned. Offering to divulge my identity to save your life was an odd way of proving your loyalty. Unfortunately, what _you_ didn't realize is that Deva knew very well who I was."

Arlen glared at Blake's assistant, then shrugged. "It doesn't matter. The troops are on this base. They'll be here in minutes."

"Well, we won't be," Blake said simply. "At least, not where they can find us. Deva?" As if by prearrangement, the man handed him a gun. "Sorry about this," Blake said, setting the weapon to stun, and fired at Arlen. She went down instantly. "All right, Deva, how much time have we got?"

"Hard to judge," was the answer. "They had only just penetrated the perimeter when I spotted them. But that was—" he looked at his chrono—"a while ago. If I had to estimate," he looked up again, "I'd say less than five minutes."

Blake nodded. "All right, everyone, let's go."

"Where are we going?" Vila asked anxiously.

"Escape tunnels," Blake answered. "Opposite direction from where you came in with the flyer. Arlen was never allowed to know about them. We'll wait there until the troops give up looking for us, then we'll make alternate plans."

"Strategic withdrawal, Vila," Dayna quoted, grinning.

"Running away, but with dignity," Tarrant clarified.

"So what are we waiting for?" Vila responded. "Let's get the dignified hell out of here."

"I have a sense of _deja vu_ ," Soolin murmured.

"Orac!" Avon exclaimed suddenly, "I have to get Orac."

"Avon, there's no time," Blake protested.

"I'm not leaving without Orac, Blake," he repeated, turning to go.

"Deva," Blake instructed, "take the others and get started. We'll catch you up."

His assistant nodded. "This way," he beckoned. Tarrant, Vila, Dayna, and Soolin followed him from the gallery.

"Avon, please," Blake attempted one last time.

From a different exit, Avon turned back to face him. "I won't be long," he promised. "I hid it nearby." He paused, then added, "If I'm not back in three minutes, you go."

Blake shook his head. "Not a chance," he said firmly.

"Damn you, Blake!" Avon exploded and nearly tripped over his own feet as he dashed off. He hadn't run so fast since the day he'd had eight seconds to cross that Federation minefield guarding what was supposed to have been Central Control.

           

It was just over four minutes when he arrived back with Orac to find Blake crouched behind Klyn's desk, gun leveled vigilantly as he maintained surveillance of all possible entry points. Arlen was still out cold beside Klyn's body.

The sound of Federation troopers advancing down the corridor could be clearly heard and was growing louder. Blake sprang from his hiding place, grabbed Avon's arm, and yanked him awkwardly towards the escape route, almost bringing them both down with Orac on top of them. They made it to the safety of the tunnels with only seconds to spare.

"You're an idiot, Blake," Avon whispered, as they landed on the ground face to face, in an embarrassingly suggestive tangle of limbs.

"Nice to know your feelings for me haven't changed," Blake quipped. Cautiously, they disentangled themselves and rose to their feet.

Avon heaved an exasperated sigh. "Which way from here?"

"Follow me."

"Predictable answer," Avon muttered under his breath as he nonetheless did so.

"What's that you say?" Blake called back over his shoulder.

Avon cleared his throat. "I said that was too damn close." Blake flashed him an impish grin. "I am referring to the timing," he snarled. "You should have gone with the others."

"I told you I was waiting for you, Avon," Blake repeated.

The man carrying Orac looked like he wanted to throttle his companion, and might have done if he _hadn't_ been carrying Orac. "Be serious, Blake," he pleaded. "Do you know what the Federation would do to you if they got their hands on you?"

Blake turned to face him. "Nothing they would not just as readily do to you," he replied.

There was a moment of silence as Avon absorbed all the unstated nuances in Blake's remark. "That is no reason for both of us to have run the risk," he said finally.

"Neither one of us would have run the risk if you hadn't insisted on going back for Orac," Blake pointed out.

"Well, I couldn't let him—it—fall into their hands either."

Blake regarded the slip curiously. "I thought you said he—it—was hidden."

"Well, yes, but—"

"No 'buts'," Blake cut in. "They wouldn't have been looking for it. We could have come back for it later."

"I didn't—think," Avon stammered.

"What?!" burst from Blake in a flurry of astonished laughter.

Avon colored slightly. "I mean it all happened so fast," he amended.

"Oh, let me guess," the rebel leader uttered deliciously, tilting his head and quoting from memory. "Automatic reaction. You're as surprised by it as I am."

"Stop it, Blake." Avon squirmed beneath the gaze that bored straight into him as if it could pierce his very soul. It used to feel like such an intrusion, he recalled, such a violation of his innermost being. Now it mostly felt—warm—and his protest against it lacked conviction. He didn't look away; he didn't even want to.

"You're the one who behaved stupidly, Avon," Blake said, as they resumed their trek.   "Hardly the first time," Avon parried lightly.

"Good point," Blake shot back.

"On the other hand, I don't have a monopoly on it."

"Oh, now wait," Blake protested, whirling around to face the other man. "The risk I took was for my—for a valued associate. The risk _you_ took..."

"Try telling Orac you love him sometime, Blake," Avon cut in, a mischievous gleam in his eye.

"What?"

"Try telling Orac you—".

"Yes, yes, I heard you," Blake interrupted. "Are you quite sure you're well?"

A look came over Avon's face that Blake had never seen before—a look of peace bordering on bliss. "Yes," Avon answered serenely, "as a matter of fact, I am." He chuckled softly to himself, then added, "though I'm starting to realize that just because one understands a situation does not mean one can change it."

"I suppose," Blake acknowledged uncertainly. It was clear he had no idea what his companion was talking about.

"Still, it is better to understand it than not to do," Avon concluded.

"I suppose," Blake repeated.

All of a sudden Avon moved up beside him and swung a companionable arm across his shoulder. "So—how much further?"

Simultaneously surprised and pleased by this usurpation of his own customary gesture, Blake relaxed completely. "Just up ahead," he answered, reaching over to help support Orac.

They walked side by side the rest of the way, with Blake beginning to formulate plans for the next stage of the rebellion. "We'll have to leave Gauda Prime, of course."

"Of course," Avon echoed.

"And we'll have to find ourselves a decent ship."

"Naturally."

"No offense, but I saw what was left of yours."

"Right."

"I like the looks of your crew, though."

"Right."

Blake frowned slightly, feeling mildly unnerved by this unexpected display of accord.  "Shouldn't be long before it's like old times again," he finished, dimly aware of the sudden incongruity in his concluding statement.

"Let's hope not _exactly_ like old times," Avon responded mysteriously.

"Well, now," Blake mused, "I'm not sure how to take that."

Avon smiled.  "Your turn then."

"What?"

"Not being sure." Unconsciously, his fingers caressed the box in his arms.

"Well, one thing is different," Blake declared.

"Oh?"

"This new bond you've formed with Orac."

"Bond?" Avon echoed blankly.

"Well, what would _you_ call it? You risked your life—our lives—to retrieve it. You're handling it with what appears to be affection." Blake chuckled. "You suggested I tell it I love it, for heaven's sake. Quite a contrast to the days when you used to go around insisting that it's only a computer." They were now at their destination. "Mind you, I'm not complaining," Blake said, as he pushed open the door to the room where the others were waiting for them and started through, "just trying to figure out why."

Avon hung back for a moment, looked down at Orac and smiled. "You'd be surprised, Roj Blake," he murmured softly.


End file.
